Glass (6 page)

To break up the party.

It’s great to see you again.

she says.
But it’s getting late and

I do have some projects to finish.

“Late? How late?” I still

have to drive all the way home.

I twist Trey’s arm until

his watch reveals the time:

nineteen minutes past one.

No wonder my boobs hurt,

having not been emptied

in so many hours. They’re

hard as stones and leaking

a little. Another twinge

of guilt. No more

breast milk for Hunter.

Trey hands me a scrap of paper.

Here’s my number, and give

me yours, too, okay?

In case you forget to call.

His hand brushes mine

like a summer kiss. Heightened

by the meth spinning circles

in my brain, his simple touch—

not to mention his request—

sparks shivers, thigh to neck.

But it
is
time to go. I spent

my motel money, and anyway,

I’m much too buzzed

to sleep. Might as well drive

on home. Three hours will

go by like nothing, this buzzed.

“Thanks for everything, Robyn.

Awesome meeting you, Trey.

Hope to see you again soon.”

Real, real soon.

Reconsider, knowing I’ll

want to stop for a small

pick-me-up along

the long road home.

“Oh, hey. Can you spare

a piece of tinfoil and

maybe a straw? I’ve got

zip for paraphernalia.

Let’s make you a pipe,
Trey

tells me.
How about a light

bulb, Robyn?
She obliges,

and in a matter of minutes,

Trey turns it into a smoking

device.
Be careful. It will get

really hot. Oh, and you’ll

probably need this, too.

He reaches into his pocket,

extracts a lighter.
Now just

drop a rock, right in here….

He demonstrates with one

of Robyn’s.
Hold the lighter

right about here…. A thin

plume of smoke lifts, and

Trey is quick to inhale.

As Robyn and I help him

finish it, Trey says,
So,

Kristina, next time

you’re up for the score,

call me. This shit travels

the US-95 corridor up from

Mexico. My connection lives

near Reno. Ironic, huh?

No wonder Trey gets

to Reno sometimes.

Ironic barely covers

it. But hey, next time

I won’t have to drive

all the way to Stockton.

(Let alone have to deal

with Robyn’s evil eye.)

“That’s good to know,

Trey,” says Kristina.

Then Bree takes over.

“Next time you come

over the mountain, be

sure to give
mea call.

I’ll pay you back the

hundred. And if you talk

real nice, I just might

add a little interest.”

Holy crap. Team Bree

with the monster, you

never know what you

might get. But Trey

laughs.
And just what

do you have in mind?

This is Bree’s game. So

why does she disappear

now? I shrug. “For me to

know and you to find out.”

Guess I’ll have to make

it soon, then. The curiosity

might do me in.
He wraps

the hot bulb in a napkin,

walks me to the door, bends

to bring his lips close to my

ear.
Careful driving home. I

want you all in one piece.

All in one piece.

But does that mean

he wants me?

I take the stairs slowly,

head turning cartwheels.

It’s been so long

since anyone has

wanted me.

At the bottom of the stairs,

I turn to look over my shoulder.

I want to believe

that he wants me.

But it’s impossible.

Trey’s backlit silhouette

is still in the doorway.

Maybe it isn’t

impossible. Only

highly unlikely.

He raises a hand, waves

a good-bye. Closes the door.

I never used to

second-guess

myself. What’s up?

The porch light winks out.

Is Trey staying the night?

Well, of course he is.

Why do you think

Robyn wanted you gone?

Jealousy wells up inside.

I want him to stay with me.

Wanting and getting

are two totally

different things.

I want him to take me in

his arms and kiss me.

Why must I torture

myself? He’s with

Robyn. Right now.

I want him to touch

me all over my body.

Cut it out, Kristina.

You’re just making

things worse.

I want him to tell me

he needs me. Loves me.

What am I thinking?

I don’t want

that at all.

Yes I do want that.

I want to be in love.

Stop it! Don’t you

know talking to yourself

is a sign of insanity?

Not quite warm

September night,

the obsidian sky

brimming

with stars. An orange

harvest moon lights

the semideserted

highway, and my

confidence

in my ability to

reach home, all in

one piece, grows with

every mile left

dissolved

in my wake. I am

wide awake, buzzed

to the nth degree.

I drive slowly, lost

in thoughts

of Hunter, hopefully

sleeping soundly;

of the things that led

up to having him;

of what life

would be like if he had

never been conceived.

I would never have

thought I

could

consider living without

him; never would have

thought I might

easily

distance myself from

him. But I want

someone—other than

a baby—to love, and

soon.

I miss feeling special.

Miss feeling beautiful.

I only hope I haven’t

become

impossible for a guy to look

at with lust in his eyes.

For a small pick-me-up,

not because I particularly

need it (my eyes are wide,

wide open), but because I can.

I have stash. It’s talking to me.

One little hit, my heart revs

high, then settles into quick-

step mode. How I’ve missed

that race and pound. How

I’ve missed the lack of control.

It makes no sense. I know

that. But I’m sick of making

sense. Sick of being sensible.

As I consider that, it hits me

that I haven’t called Mom.

Now it’s much too late.

Is she pacing the floor, ready

to pounce when I walk

through the door? Has she gone

to sleep, assuming I stayed

overnight and forgot

the cell phone in my purse?

Cell phone! I yank it out,

and sure enough, there’s

a voice mail message

waiting for me.
When you

get this, please call and let

us know you’re safe. I don’t

care what time it is.
Mom

is pissed, and rightly so.

I look at the time. Two

twenty. Screw it, I’d better

call. Mom answers on

the second ring.
Hello?

Kristina, is that you?

Who else would it be? “Yes,

it’s me. I’m fine. I stayed

late at Robyn’s, decided

to come on home. No worries.

I’ve had gallons of coffee.”

No worries? Kristina Georgia

Snow! Have you no consideration

whatsoever for your family?

We’ve been so worried!

One simple phone call…

She’s right. Of course she is.

But I don’t feel like giving much

ground. “I’m sorry, Mom.

Go on to bed. I’ll be home

soon.” I hang up without

even asking about Hunter. I’ll

have to eat a table full of crow

in the morning, but why

worry about it the rest

of the way home?

A little before four. The house

is dark. Silent. Everyone fast

asleep. Except me, of course.

Rather than chance waking up

Hunter, I think I’ll run on down

to the all-night convenience

mart and pick up an application.

Almost every kid in the valley

works at the Sev for a month or two,

while waiting to go off to college,

get married, or find a better job. It

pays minimum wage, and the work

sucks, but beggars cannot be choosers.

I park off to one side, check out who’s

inside. Believe it or not, there’s a guy

playing a slot machine. They have slots

in Nevada 7-Elevens. And grocery

stores, airports. Anywhere people get bored.

Even up-all-night bored. Turns out I know

the guy behind the counter. Grady’s a year

older than me and a total loser type.

He’ll probably never work anywhere

but at the Sev, which is doubtless

just fine by him. “Hey, Grady,” I say.

He gives me a total loser smile,

the kind that gives you the creeps.

Hey, Kristina. You’re up early.

“I haven’t been to bed yet,

actually.” Those seven words say

much more than he needs to know.

Grady looks at my eyes, and his

grin grows real wide.
Oh, yeah.

I can see it perfectly now.

Whatever. If he knows, it’s because

he gets high too. “I came

by to pick up an application.”

Funny time of the day for that.

Let me see if I can dig one up.

He goes into the back room.

It takes a few minutes, but he

finally returns, application in hand.

You sure you want to work here?

Mostly what’s open is graveyard.

You’d have to put up with people

like him.
He points to the slot addict.

The guy doesn’t even turn around.

Fuck you,
he says, feeding

a ten into the money reader.

“It’s not like I really want to

work here, but I need a job

and my choices are limited.”

The monster goes on to tell him all

about Hunter. About living with my

parents, studying for my GED,

and wanting a way to escape.

“I’ll be eighteen in a couple

of weeks. But I can’t do anything

until I can save up enough

for a little place. Food. Diapers.”

I smile. “Miscellaneous.”

Yeah, well, if you ever need help

hooking up with that, give me

a buzz. You know where to find me.

And it was right here,

practically under my

nose (ha-ha) all the time?

As I start out the door,

the slot machine freak lights

a cigarette. Now, I haven’t

indulged that habit in quite

a while either. I quit when I

was pregnant—figured I

was eighty-sixing one bad habit,

why not lose that one too?

But meth and nicotine buddy up

real fine. The smell of fresh-

lit tobacco sucks me right up

tight against Slot Man.

“Could I bum one of those?”

I’m flat out of cash at

the moment, and still under

eighteen. Grady might

stroke me by pretending

he doesn’t know my age,

but the cameras are rolling

and stings for selling booze

or smokes to underage people

are common. I don’t want

to get him in trouble, not when

he might be helpful in the future.

Besides, one cancer stick, with

no more in a drawer, won’t

get me hooked again. Right?

Slot dude smiles a knowing

smile, shakes one from the

hard pack.
You owe me one.

Yech. He’s scruffy. Kind

of smelly. I definitely hope

he doesn’t think I owe him.

Grady hands me some matches.

No law against that, right?

“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

I retreat outside, into the cool

of sunless morning. My hands

shake a bit as I fire the Camel Light.

It tastes like heaven. Like

if I could just keep smoking

it, I’d never need to eat again.

If you’ve never smoked, you won’t

understand that, but if you have,

you know exactly what I mean.

I suck the poison slowly,

with great, immediate pleasure.

It’s almost as good as…

Okay, maybe not as good as

that. But it calms me,

convinces me to go on home,

do whatever is necessary

to keep my mom and Scott off

my back. Apologize like I’m

really, truly sorry. And, in

several ways, I really am. But

there’s no turning back now.